


The Complications of Royalty

by clarapaget



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, god I just love writing nervous Margo don't I, let girls be sweet in a garden, royal proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 09:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarapaget/pseuds/clarapaget
Summary: Margo is reminded that the King of Fillory must marry. And that they are permitted to have one wife and one husband. Since Eliot is no longer King; missing, dead, Margo doesn’t know, she asks Fen for her hand.





	The Complications of Royalty

There must’ve been days in Fillory when the sky dimmed and stars twinkled high above the villages and high above Whitespire. There must’ve been days in Fillory where animals and humans alike joined in company and laughed until the day became bright once more. There must’ve been days in Fillory where everyone lived harmoniously and love floated throughout the opium filled kingdom. That’s what Fen had been daydreaming about lately. She had some time on her hands recently; time for crying, worrying, distressing. Time for mourning her husband, Eliot; for it seemed the days were drawing tighter around her and no one else was there to comfort her. No one else to feel the pain and loss that came from the absence of Eliot. No one else but Margo.

She’d pestered the High King before; a not so charitable woman, but nonetheless, had a remarkably good spirit around Fen. She felt quite contented around Margo, someone who struck fear and had an impeccable vocabulary when it came to denouncing her enemies and often, as well, her friends. 

Fen sat alone, today, wallowing mostly. The pillows in her bedroom were drenched in tears and everything that once felt solid instead became mushed around like pea soup. There’d been nothing to distract her as of late. Royal traditions were one huge pain in Umber’s ass. 

She’d become tired of her loneliness, however, and decided to greet Margo. Fen had been dwelling on the forgotten traditions of Fillory; with Eliot dead, she still reigned as his Queen right? It’d begun tearing her apart on the inside and she needed to question someone; anyone. 

The palace was quite empty now, Fen thought, as she strolled through the corridors. It made sense for Margo to be found in the throne room, but she wasn’t. Whitespire looked as though everyone had simply vanished from within its walls. 

For the next hour, Fen wandered around the palace. She ran across two guards who told her Margo was spending some time in the gardens outside. It was so… not Margo, Fen felt. When, in the history of Margo, had Margo ever been one to enjoy the outdoorsy part of life? If anything, Fen believed Margo was a refined person; a woman more likely to fixate on the splendors of human company then the company of plants and assorted flowers.

“Hey,” Fen said when she saw Margo sitting on one of the stone benches. Pink flowers climbed up the wall behind her; an arch of vines tangled above her. She appeared, to Fen, centered and celestial; a warm body, glowing, vibrating with extraordinary power.

“Fen!” Margo said, surprised at the woman’s sudden entrance. Although, Margo stayed seated, her hands cautiously moved with a nervous state in her lap; she was rubbing the crease between her thumb and forefinger anxiously. A habit not so foreign to Fen.

“What are you doing out _here_?” Fen asked. “I looked everywhere for you!” 

“I feel like shit, Fen,” Margo said. “I’ve fucked up so much lately. I’m not supposed to fuck up. Kings, or in this Fillorian fuck-cluster, High Kings who mess up always end up dead. Beheaded, assassinated, blah blah blah. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!”

Fen approached Margo slowly, unsure of how to respond. This declaration came at a time where she was stuck in a similar rut. As well, she’d never completely witnessed a breakdown or devolution of Margo Hanson; a woman so headstrong and unbelievably brave. Margo would go to war for the people she loved, but now, she was in a furrow. It made Fen tense up. They were becoming so akin to one another; an alignment of missing coordination and loss and instability.

She sat down next to Margo and, with resistance, placed her hand on Margo’s upper arm. The High Kings skin was fire beneath her pale, trembling fingers, and Fen could feel Margo shiver at her touch. How long had it been since Margo felt the true comfort of another human? She’d been so determined lately to lock herself away and shield herself from the onslaught of dreaded human emotions.

“This is… too early to be reminding you, I know,” Fen began, “but I’m a widow now. And we have both lost someone we love, someone who was dear to us. I am pledged to marry the High King of Fillory, which was… which was Eliot.” She stumbled on his name; it took a jab at her; sliced up her stomach and drained her. There was nothing happy and heartfelt about his name anymore. It was just another word that was just as mundane as ‘coastal’ or ‘bread.’

“Yes,” Margo said, choking up. She’d been close to tears many times recently, but she was not about to let the dam overflow yet. Fillory needed her right now. There is nothing more obsolete then a High King overtaken by emotional compromise.

“Margo, you’re the High King now,” Fen continued. “I am… I am supposed to marry you. It’s Fillorian custom. You, as the acting High King, are allowed both a wife and a husband. It would be good for us. We will be united; remembering Eliot together.”

“Forget Eliot, Fen,” Margo replied. “This… isn’t about him right now. He’s gone and I won’t accept that, ever. So just bear with me when I tell you: never make two women getting married about any man.” Fen nodded, biting down her lip.

“Okay. What do you say?” Fen asked. Her hand was still on Margo’s arm. Neither had forgotten and Margo looked down at her shoulder before reaching up to grab Fen’s hand.

“I say fuck it. There’s never been a time that Fillory needed two women running it than now. And I honestly don’t think anyone else would be perfect enough to stand beside me.” 

A fleeting smile passed Fen’s lips. It had been a while since she’d felt genuine happiness. The soft arms of a joyous rebellion; a rebellion from her isolation, her depression. She was now swallowed, gratefully devoured, by the everlasting emotion of resolution.

They spent the rest of the day together; soon leaving the garden with its twirling blue flowers that sprouted from the ground and reached into the sky; green stems like hands stretching their fingertips, trying to touch the clouds above. Fen looked toward Margo longingly, watching as she strolled into the throne room, the mystical grip of power ringing from her lungs. She would think about Eliot later, for this was her time to be happy; to find love again in hidden places. Fen knew Margo; she knew her heart liked to lock itself up and throw defensive words toward the world, but she also knew Margo had a big heart; a kind, fresh heart, that blossomed at Fen’s touch and Fen’s words and Fen’s smile. 

It had been decided they would marry soon, adorned in a stone crown and both wearing the traditional Fillorian marriage colors. Margo would take Fen’s hands in hers and hold them, tightly, with an enamored smile. The palace would prepare a magnanimous feast served by the lead chef, Josh. He had been kingly with his generosity in offering assistance for the wedding. It seemed the kingdom was beginning to shift beneath Fen’s feet. She used the strength of her love for Margo, and the strength of her love for Eliot, and took heart; finally realizing the sky would not crash overhead and that there was still a tomorrow to exist harmoniously with life. 


End file.
